Self
by YasashiiKawa
Summary: Ichigo shares some one-on-one time with his Hollow self.


**Self**

The disconcertion of wearing his mask while not fighting was wearing off finally.

He'd been standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom for almost an hour, silently struggling to maintain control of himself.

The agreement was that he would bring out the mask if _It _agreed to stay inside. Truth be told, he'd wanted to wear the thing without anyone around to school him on How to be a Proper Vizard. He wanted to see what would happen if he called on it's powers when he wasn't being attacked by something.

After a quick cleanup of his room- these things were never predictable and the last thing he needed was another broken desk chair or closet door- he passed a clawed hand in front of his face and summoned his mask.

The voice in his head, twisted and higher pitched, was something like his own.

_I wanna have something to look at too._

There was no need for further instruction. He'd pulled his shirt over his head, careful not to get it caught on his mask. The pleased sigh in his mind caused his skin to raise in goose bumps.

They'd stared at each other's reflections for a while. He cocked his head to the side and felt his eyes travel up his uniform-clad legs and rest on the mask.

_Touch it. Touch me._

His hand rose to the red side of the mask and hovered over it. He expected it to move under his touch, to ripple or something.

_Go on, King. Touch me._

The bone was cool and hard against the feather light touches of his fingers. He ignored the soft purring inside his head and continued his explorations.

The curves of the mask were enthralling. He couldn't stop touching the teeth. He used to think that the mouth was snarling, but upon closer inspection he realized it was grinning. A little on the insane side, but slightly proud as well.

_More_. The demand came to him low and thick with lust.

He moved closer to the mirror, watching his own body move. He rested his other hand against the glass of the mirror, covering his heart. His head filled with a deep groan.

_Look at me_.

He drew his gaze upwards, sweeping appreciatively over muscled limbs and endless contours.

_Look at _me.

He understood. Eyes peered back at him from his reflection. One was like a lone sun in the middle of the black abyss of his universe. The warm brown eye next to it was losing it's sense of familiarity. He scowled beneath the mask.

Maniacal laughter rang in his ears.

_You like _me_ better now, dontcha', King_?

His scowl deepened. He moved to take the mask off, having grown suddenly uncomfortable with his lack of control, among other things.

A howl of rage reverberated in his skull, causing him to drop to his knees in pain.

_No! Don't stop_. Desperation laced the attempted command.

It turned him on.

He laid his hand flat against the front of the mask and let his eyes slide half closed. His breathing slowed and he rested against the foot of his bed, still watching his reflection.

The groaning in his head was like music to his ears. It guided his hands over his chest and down his torso.

_Yes…_

He watched as his hands undid the button of his pants and pull zipper down. There was a moment of hesitation and he could feel a playful smirk tug at his lips.

_I can tease too, King_.

He let his head fall back against the bed and sighed with pleasure.

_Taste_.

His tongue flicked out to taste the smooth interior of the mask. It was salty. He liked it. He liked the gasp his tongue elicited.

A warm hand caressed the swollen flesh of his cock, squeezing almost painfully on the upstroke and twisting on the down stroke. The violent jerks and tugs to his sensitive skin were reminiscent of their battles with each other, always testing how much pain was needed to get the other off.

It sickened him as much as it made him harder.

The sounds filling his head were accompanied by his own noises. His grunts complimented the moaning and sighs in his head.

His eyes were closed now. He was lost to the touch that he knew was his own but that felt like someone else's. This took Dead Hand to a whole new level.

That it was the beast taking him this way only fueled his desire.

_Come for us, Ichigo_. It was begged in a gritty growl.

It was all he needed to hear.

Orgasm rushed through him with all the fire and heat of Getsuga Tensho, leaving him gasping for breath and covered in sweat.

The mask had disintegrated almost completely except for a few random chunk of bone clinging to the side of his face and in his hair.

The satisfied panting whispering in his head was fading as the bits of mask faded.

He met his own brown eyes and frowned at his disheveled reflection.

He waited, listening.

There was nobody but himself.


End file.
